Primitive religion is not believed, it is danced!

Arthur Darby Nock

Earth's crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God;
And only he who sees takes off his shoes;
The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.

Elizabeth Browning

Friday, February 17, 2017

Rumors of God

Then suddenly you’re left all alone
With your body that can’t love you
And your will that can’t save you

But now, like a whispering in dark streets
Rumors of God run through your dark blood

We age
We despair

Evil rules
And hate lives

We wander aimlessly in dark places
Clammy and wretched

And yet
Rumors of love and grace persist
In our hearts

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